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CHAPTER TWO IMAGINEERING CULTURAL HERITAGE FOR LOCAL-TO-GLOBAL AUDIENCES NOEL B. SALAZAR

In 1994, the Walt Disney Company was taken by surprise when its plans to develop a lucrative American history park near Manassas, Virginia, the site of a major battle during the Civil War, was met by protests from various organisations, advocacy groups and thousands of concerned citizens (Synnott 1995). Part of the reason the plan was abandoned, according to the company, was that the people of Manassas and surrounding areas had fought the development of the theme park claiming that the "true" history of not only the Civil War, but of all of "America", would not be told there. These were some of the first public (i.e. non-academic) protests against Disney's alleged co-optation and perversion of heritage in the creation of its products. The company's department responsible for such reinventions of the past is aptly called Disney Imagineering, a neologism denoting the combination of creative imagination and technological engineering in the "theming" of goods, services and places, so that visitors develop memorable experiences of their visit (Imagineers 1996). A perfectly imagineered attraction makes you feel like you are on a journey that transports you to a different place or time and completely engulfs you in a new world. It makes a story convincing by engaging all senses and moving peoples' emotions within a fantasy environment in which, paradoxically, the fantasy feels completely real. Disney's innovative methods have been successfully copied elsewhere. Some of the key elements of the imagineering process-easily consumable images, the presence of icons, spatial definition and coherence, and the management of traffic flows-have been applied across the globe to create attractive landscapes of leisure. Depending on the theme, the images, imaginaries and representations relied upon and manipulated differ. Interestingly, the myths, histories, and fantasies imagineers draw upon to

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appeal to the visitor's desires and imaginations can be either ones associated with the locality where the attraction is based or others that are more widely circulating, from the most spectacular fantasies to the most mundane reveries. In the context of developing countries, for instance, the imaginaries or unspoken representational systems that enact and construct peoples and places draw upon colonial and postcolonial visions of Self and Other that circulate (both within and between cultures) through global entertainment media, (travel) literature, and academic writings in disciplines such as anthropology, archaeology and history (Salazar 2008, 2010a). Since such imaginaries are multi-scalar, themed eiwironment developers can use any number of cultural representations at any scale to present a seemingly cogent image, no matter how inaccurate, that is attractive to visitors. This chapter critically analyses the imaginaries at play in heritage and heritage-themed sites. What happens when imaginaries of the past are institutionalised, standardised or commoditised? Across the globe, sanitised versions of heritage are replicated and converted into sellable products. Such imagineering tends to be conservative, a flattening and faking that continues to serve the status quo. Rather than embodying culture and history, imagineering has the tendency to "signify and symbolise" (Teo 2003, 547). Simplified themed environments function as signifiers that enable tourists to identify quickly with attractions. Rather than explore and discover, visitors are given exciting and exotic, even if predetermined, images and imaginaries to consume. This chapter illustrates some of the issues at hand by way of ethnographic case studies from Indonesia and Tanzania, showing how heritage environments are cleverly used to (re)produce as well as contest currently dominant domestic and international imaginaries of postcolonial nations and their people. The spatial as well as temporal comparisons serve to highlight that, despite the different socio-cultural, geo-political and economic contexts (see Salazar 2010a), the processes and dynamics at work are strikingly similar (Salazar 2007).

Building modern postcolonial nations through historically themed parks In his book Imagined Communities, Anderson (1991) describes how the popularisation of heritage plays a pivotal role in the forming of nations as imagined political communities. It is no coincidence that young countries around the world, especially postcolonial ones, have seen in national heritage parks a unique vehicle to build their nation, by portraying

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it as simultaneously ethnically diverse, but unified in one national culture. A historically themed park serves to underline the message that the nation's foundation are its people, its different customs and cultures, held together by (often invented) common traditions. As Dahles notes, "[t]hese cultural displays provide ... nations with the opportunity to come to terms with the rapid transformations brought about by modernisation." (2001, 12). By integrating minorities into a coherent visual narrative, a national heritage park promotes a sense of both nationalism and modernity. However, in multi-ethnic postcolonial nations such as Indonesia and Tanzania, this process unavoidably involves decisions "as to which cultures to privilege and which to ignore." (Stanley 1998, 59). Because imagineering simplifies peoples and places for easy consumption, themed environments inevitably become sites of struggle and the production of "unity in diversity" through multicultural displays opens up debates about whose heritage is being represented, promoted, narrated, and for whom. Consolidating the cohesion and the unity of the nation through heritage parks clearly comes at a price. The examples below from Indonesia and Tanzania illustrate the issues at stake.

Taman Mini Indonesia Indah Taman Mini Indonesia Indah (Beautiful Indonesia in Miniature) is a 160-hectare open-air park, situated on the southeastern edge of Indonesia's capital, Jakarta. It was conceived by Siti Hartinah, the spouse of General Suharto, after visits to an analogous project in Bangkok, Thailand and to Disneyland in 1971 (Pemberton 1994). The park was established in 1972 and officially inaugurated in 1975. Taman Mini is centred around a vast reflecting pond containing small artificial islands that form a large natural map of Indonesia, accessible by pedal boat but best viewed from the cable car or elevated train that pass overhead. From the air, one sees alongside the mini-archipelago twenty-six massive pavilions, one for each Indonesian province in existence at the time the park was built. These constructions form the heart of the national heritage park. The pavilions are dominated by traditional rumah adat (customary houses), containing sanitised permanent exhibits of arts and crafts and the customs and lifestyles of the peoples from the province, typically the costumes they might wear at a wedding, the furniture they use in their homes, and their jewellery. Sometimes it is possible to taste local food, browse through tourism brochures, or purchase souvenirs. During the weekends, there are often free traditional dance performances, films and cultural shows. Apart from a series of theme museums, there is also an orchid garden, a bird park

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and a fauna museum, all examples of the country's rich natural heritage. It would take a week to visit everything. To make the park available to the Indonesian public, the entrance fee is low (9,000 IDR or less than 1 EUR, with only nominal extra fees to visit the gardens or museums). The additional recreational facilities (especially for children) make Taman Mini a fun place to visit and a popular destination for a day out with the family. Indonesian visitors far exceed the numbers of foreign tourists. The rationale behind the national heritage section of the park was to give visitors a glimpse of the diversity of the Indonesian archipelago in a single location, as a symbol of the country's motto of Bhinekka Tung gal Ika (Unity in Diversity). Taman Mini is one of the most deliberate and overt efforts of the Indonesian government to make use of "local traditions" to display Indonesia as "a nation of cultures". Even before the park was opened, scholars were already analyzing the ways in which the project revealed state-imagineered conceptions of culture and power (Anderson 1973). Anthropologists too have, each in their own way, tried to make sense of Taman Mini (Pemberton 1994; Acciaioli 1996; Errington 1998, 188-227; Hitchcock 1998; Bruner 2005, 211-230). Many have focused on how the park represents the past as an integral part of the future, through a present which is continuously rendered as cultural icons of regional tradition and serves as a tangible expression of modernisation (Anderson 1991, 176-177). Major General Suharto's New Order government ( 1965-1998) sought to identify one single cultural type for each province, and to play down the extent and breathe of the actual ethnic diversity they had inherited from the Dutch colonial era (hereby erasing the difference between past, present, and future) . 1 The obsession with connecting the past and future in the form of the present finds prolific expression at Taman Mini through numerous socalled monumen (monuments): miniature replicas of ancient monuments, memorial monuments, and commemorative inscriptions (Pemberton 1994). The name of the park is significant too, "as in it the cultures of Indonesia's constituent provinces have been extracted as objects of 'beauty'." (Yamashita 2003, 44). In the logic of Suharto's New Order (to distinguish his policies from those of his predecessor Sukarno), a flattening of both time and space, the simulacrum of Taman Mini actually exceeds the real Indonesia because it is less confusing, more ordered, and can be understood and experienced as a whole. 2 Diversity is represented for the most part as differences between domesticated different-but-same administrative regions rather than between local cultures or societies. Taman Mini thus draws together ethnicity and reinvented locality so that each presupposes the other

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(Boellstorff 2002). As Adams notes, "all of the regional exhibits display material from the same set of categories (weapons, dances, marriage garments, baskets, etc.), regardless of the relevance of these categories to the local groups in question." (Adams 1998, 85). Adherence to this uniform set of categories conveys the message that in spite of superficial differences, there is inherent commonality between the diverse ethnic groups (cf. Acciaioli 1996). In Boellstorff's words, "after all, what is Taman Mini if not model for a human zoo where ethnolocalities are habitats-cages for culture-and the state a zookeeper?" (Boellsdorff 2002, 31).

Fig. 2-1: Taman Mini Indonesia Indah (Beautiful Indonesia in Miniature)

From the very beginning, Taman Mini was envisioned as a twin project of raising national consciousness and developing tourism. Unfortunately, most scholars have focused on the former and neglected the study of the latter. Suharto himself strongly believed that tourism would increase (foreign) revenue, enhance the nation's international status and foster domestic unity. In the period that Taman Mini opened, his government allowed the Directorate-General of Tourism to play a more active role in the management of cultural heritage, including both historical monuments and traditional folk art (Dahles 2001). The link between domestic tourism and nationalism was clearly encoded in Indonesia's 1983 fourth Five Year Plan. As Adams points out, the fact that Indonesia did not have a Ministry

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of Tourism, but rather a Ministry of Tourism, Post and Telecommunications, reflected "the premise that tourism is inseparable from communications and, hence, nation-building." (Adams 1998, 85). While the park embodied the national identity constructed by the New Order during its glory days, its fate after Suharto' s forced resignation in 1998 is symbolic of the wider crisis of the Indonesian national project. Since then, the park has faced declining attendance and general neglect. If Taman Mini was the New Order's imagined official version of an ahistorical and timeless Indonesia, fostering nation building and nationalism by displaying a limited cultural inventory, how is the park experienced by its visitors in the present day? The park is still promoted through school textbooks as the place to learn about all of Indonesia and to master the archipelago's cultural diversity. Today, Taman Mini is one of Jakarta's most popular recreational spots, crowded on weekends with families and groups of teenagers from the capital's growing middle class. The park still receives around four million visitors a year, the majority of which are domestic. Despite attempts to market the park internationally, overseas visitors have declined sharply. Bruner (2005, 211-230) looks at alternative ways of interpre1ting Taman Mini, at how ethnic groups operating within an official statesponsored site impose their own meanings and social practices, appropriate the place, and undermine the official interpretation of the site. He puts forward that the display and activities within the pavilions are sites of local production, instances of human agency and creativity within the limits of how it is possible to express ethnicity in the Indonesian state publicly. An indicative study conducted in 2005, suggests there is a clear mismatch between what is desired and expected by contemporary visitors and what were the original intentions of the founders of the park (Wulandari 2005). The main motivation to visit is recreational although two thirds of the visitors expect to learn something about Indonesian art and culture during the course of their visit. Like elsewhere in the world, young Indonesians are actually more interested in modern technology and fashionable products than outdated local traditions. Rather than being worried about the unity of their country, they prefer to dream about the world "out there", a theme that is central in Dunia Fantasi (Fantasy World), Jakarta's other major attraction park, with imagjneered sections named Europe, America and Africa. 3 Taman Mini versus Dunia Fantasi, socialistic nationalism versus capitalistic internationalism (Jones and Shaw 2006). While the nation-building project seems more and more difficult to realise, the link between Taman Mini and tourism is becoming more pronounced. During the New Order era, inhabitants of the provinces were

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often notably absent in Taman Mini. Since the fall of Suharto in 1998, some provinces are bringing their people in because they now use their pavilion at Taman Mini to promote tourism to their region. Because seven new provinces have been created since 2000, Taman Mini needs some rethinking. The park does seem to have some adaptive capacity as is exemplified by the pavilion of the breakaway former province of East Timor, which has become the Museum of East Timor, a memorial to the period of Indonesian rule. Interestingly, one of the latest projects is the development of a Chinese Museum (Taman Budaya Tionghoa Indonesia), to document the cultural heritage of the Chinese diaspora, highlighting 4 their lasting contribution to an ever-developing nation.

Kijiji cha Makumbusho Kijiji cha Makumbusho (Village Museum) is situated in the northwestern outskirts of Tanzania's economic capital, Dares Salaam. The idea for this open-air park dates back to the colonial era, when Tanganyika was part of the British Empire. 5 Shortly before independence in 1961, the then Curator of Ethnography at the National Museum, a certain Mr. Wylie, envisioned the creation of an open-air museum to reflect the rich and diverse traditions of architecture. As a child of his time, he realised that "the increasing popularity of modern housing spelled doom for traditional styles and techniques, of which he hoped to preserve selected examples for both display and research purposes, including in each sample relevant household paraphernalia." (Masao 1993, 57). Mr. Wylie also planned for traditional handicraft activities, to breathe life into such a heritage-themed environment. It took time to convince the postcolonial Museum Board of the value of the proposal, but in 1965 some money was set aside to buy a modest plot of land (two hectares) and create the park (which, certainly when compared to the Indonesian example, looks more like a tiny hamlet than a village). Like other national heritage parks, it wants to be a place, as the website indicates, "Where you can see all Tanzania in one day." (Village Museum). Similar to the core section of Taman Mini, but much smaller in scale, the centrepiece of the Village Museum is a collection of authentically constructed dwellings, meant to show "traditional" life in various parts of Tanzania. Thirteen units were built, representing the major varieties of vernacular architecture of mainland Tanzania (a modern, urban unit was added later for the sake of representativeness). Like in the Indonesian case, there is an assumed equivalence between peoples and places, although in Tanzania the selection happened not along administrative regions but

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ethnic groups. The idea is one of a linear relation between ethnicity and architectural style: "Tanzania has more than 123 tribes, each of which builds its own type of house." (Mbughuni 1974, 35).

Fig. 2-2: Kijiji cha Makumbusho (Village Museum)

The park is expected to represent the various ethnic groups found within Tanzania. However, due to shortage of funding and space, only the following peoples are represented: Zaramo, Rundi, Chagga, Maasai, Haya, Hehe, Fipa, Nyakyusa, Nyamwezi, Gogo and Ngoni. Each group represented has a house typical of those found in the home area. Each of these dwellings is equipped with almost all the typical items and utensils normally used by the respective people, but the park is devoid of those same people. The museum offices, which form part of the entrance to the main compound, were constructed using modern architectural designs. Since its inception, the Village Museum has been state-funded and the Tanzania Tourist Corporation (now Tanzania Tourist Board) greatly aided in its establishment. It is managed as an extension of the Department of Ethnography of the National Museum, a parastatal organisation under the Antiquities Department. As such, the Village Museum helps providing information to communities, visitors, scholars and schoolchildren about cultural and natural heritage; conducting research; conserving and preserving the museum collection; and maintaining public museum services. The park

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has a working relationship with Nyumba ya Sanaa (House of Art)-an arts-and-crafts workshop catering to tourists in the centre of Dar es Salaam)-in terms of basic sharing of information, database, tourist traffic and so on. As in Taman Mini, the Village Museum often hosts traditional music, especially ngoma (drumming), and dance performances. Some of the country's most famous wood-workers, coming from the Makonde and Zaramo ethnic groups, have worked under the museum's patronage and displayed their wares on its premises. Occasionally, there have been special festivals centred on live presentations of one particular ethnic group (e.g. the Ethnic Days Festival). During these festivities, there are not only performances, but visitors can also enjoy traditional cuisine. In an attempt to promote Tanzanian cultures and traditions, over twenty ethnic groups presented their cultures at the Village Museum. The absence of people around the houses is striking and gives the park a rather desolate and very artificial feel. In fact, it was always the explicit aim not to exhibit exotic ethnicities. This goes back to President Nyerere, who was of the opinion that "human beings could not be preserved like animals in a zoo" (quoted in Schneider 2006, 114). At the same time, the first period of independent Tanzania in the 1960s was marked by "a general move to banish and segregate from lived experience 'traditions' that did not fit into an image of modernity" and move them to museums, places "where things rest outside the current of time and life" (Schneider 2006, 114). In the Village Museum one finds, physically taken out of everyday life, traditional housing designs, which the Tanzanian state was actively combating as outdated and to be overcome, not least through its grand project of villagisation (cf. Scott 1998). As Schneider points out, "the 'museumisation' of traditions, physically and rhetorically, was an exercise in boundary creation-and a statement that such traditions had no other place in modern life." (2006, 114). Having to preserve and maintain vernacular architecture with extremely scarce resources has led to many financial and administrative challenges. (Masao 1993). Lack of money and well-trained staff pose a big problem for the general management of the Village Museum. Moreover, major and extensive repairs had to be undertaken on the house units, the climate of Dar es Salaam requiring a departure from original building materials and, in some cases, total reconstruction. As concerns interpretation, signposting at, and pathways among, the different house displays have been completely redone. Much of this was realised with the help of the Swedish African Museum Program, a network joining museums in Sweden and in African countries. In 1996, the program held a Conference on African Open Air Museums in the Village Museum, and it twinned the latter with

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the Skansen Open-Air Museum in Stockholm. 6 Such twinning programmes reinforce the idea that the construction of national heritage parks follows globally diffused patterns. Nowadays, the Village Museum attracts very few visitors. There are the occasional visits by expatriate families living in Tanzania or backpackers who landed in Dar and are waiting to travel elsewhere. International volunteers visit Makumbusho as part of their cultural immersion package. The park administration is convinced that taking Tanzanian people in the Village Museum. back to their histories enables them to see what was good or useful in their (imagined) past and which is worth incorporating in contemporary life and living (Mwenesi 1998). However, there is only a very rudimentary culture of visiting museums among the Tanzanian public (and, honestly, most cannot afford to do so). The decision by the managers to allow the use of their premises for traditional performances such as initiation ceremonies and wedding dances, and for organising events to promote indigenous cuisine and traditional dances, seems to be a step in the right direction. Among locals, Makumbusho is particularly popular in the evenings as a place where they can have their nyama choma (roasted meat) and beer while enjoying some life music, often Congolese musicians playing Souk music. '

entrepreneurs have seized the opportunity to commoditise the nostalgic potential of daily rural life. The imagineering, i.e. the production of visions, of images and of representations of the villages and their Inhabitants, was largely initialised by external actors. The focus on the power of imaginaries in the new economy is also linked to another field, that of storytelling (LOfgren 2003). Not simply showcasing national or ethnic heritage, but being able to narrate it has become an important asset (Salazar 2010a). In what follows, I describe how these general trends took shape in Indonesia and Tanzania.

From display to experience, from village museums to tourism village

The economic crisis of 1997 and the fall of Suharto in 1998 radically changed Indonesia in many aspects. After more than three decades under a centralised (and autocratic) national government, the country embarked on a democratisation process that quickly gave rise to regional demands for decentralisation of power. In order to finance their new bureaucratic duties, local administrations needed money. Not surprisingly, many turned to tourism as an easy way to obtain the required funds. Although some of the desa wisata (tourism village) programmes were originally launched by the central government (which saw them as fundamental tools of national development: Pariwisata Inti Rakyat or Tourism for the People), local authorities were quick to appropriate the initiative. In central Java, for example, many tourism villages were launched around the same time in which the policies of regional autonomy became effective. Various villages jumped on the wagon, seeing the concept of a tourism village as an alternative to big-scale tourism developments over which they had virtually no control and from which they benefited little. There is certainly a growing market for village tourism, especially among international tourists and those Indonesians and expatriates living in big urban centres. Tourism villages invite visitors to see and experience

While, to a certain extent, both Taman Mini and the Village Museum still fulfil their role in nation-building, through time this has become less of an urgent preoccupation of the respective governments. What is clear is that neither of the two national heritage parks ever brought in the expected foreign tourist dollars. Given the precarious economic situation in both Indonesia and Tanzania, other strategies were developed to reach this second goal. This happened in a rapidly changing national, regional and global context. In the 1990s, helped by the end of the Cold War, the world witnessed the rapid rise of the so-called "experience economy" (Pine and Gilmore 1999). Imaginaries became a key vehicle in what is now called experience tourism. Instead of promoting places to see-sightseeingtourism shareholders across the globe started developing experiential packages, marketed in multi-sensorial languages. Museums and heritage parks were seen as old-fashioned. Instead, otherwise lived spaces were readied for easy tourism consumption. As developing nations such as Indonesia and Tanzania are going through a process of democratisation and the central governments have much less grip than before, shrewd

Desa Wisata ''By Desa Wisata (Tourism Village) we mean a village which offers whole atmosphere of village seen from its socio cultural life, customs, which is potential to be developed into tourism components, such as: attraction, accommodation, food and beverages, and other tourist needs. The development of a tourism village does not mean to alter what already exist, but more of calling forth its potentials which already exist in the village and cannot be separated from the village itself. In general a village one which can be developed into tourism village is a village which has already good conditions in economy, social cultural, physical natural surroundings, non-urban, and possess uniqueness in tradition." (Suherman 2001 , 105).

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the daily life of the villagers: the cycle of a rice field, the visit to homeindustries who produce local food and medicine, and craftsmen who make souvenirs. By rethinking what counts as cultural heritage to include the everyday, the alternative, the intangible and that which has not yet been memorialised in guidebooks and official histories, another kind of Indonesian experience becomes available to the visitor. Different villages have different grades of tourism involvement, depending largely on physical and non-physical characteristics of the respective villages and their proximity to other tourism attractions. Some offer a home-stay experience, others are only places to stop over. A successful strategy seems to be to focus on the domestic market first. Below, I briefly discuss some of the old and new ways in which various shareholders have tried to implement the concept of a tourism village in central Java.

Fig. 3-3: Desa Wisata (Tourism Villages)

On World Tourism Day in 1999, the then Minister of Tourism, Arts and Culture, Marzuki Usman, inaugurated Tembi as model desa wisata (The Jakarta Post 1999). Over the years, this project received many national and international awards for sustainable tourism. The man behind tourism development in Tembi was an Australian entrepreneur who had chosen the picturesque village as the base of his lucrative export business of high-end handcrafted products (James 2003). His renovation of some of the village houses in Dutch colonial style had fascinated many of his visiting expatriate friends from Bali or Jakarta and this is how the idea developed to let (foreign) visitors stay overnight for 200/300 USD per

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night. During the day, the guests could relax around the swimming pool, enjoy the local food, visit the nearby school for dancing and gamelan ,erformances, pass by the craft workshop and buy souvenirs at the gallery. guarantee the "authentic" view, the owner bought the rice paddies 1urrounding his houses. While many villagers benefited from the businessman's presence by producing crafts (at one point, his workshop employed 125 people), it is unclear what they gained from the tourism activities. Instead of community-based tourism, this is more an example of how a community is being used for tourism. Word-of-mouth led to a rapid Increase in visitors and, after a couple of years, the foreigner finally decided to make his model house private again, hereby virtually stopping ull tourism development. Tanjung in Sleman is often mentioned by the Indonesian authorities as "best practice" tourism village (cf. Ardika 2006). Like its neighbours, Tanjung was a poor farming village, rice cultivation being the major source of income. National government officials introduced the idea of village tourism to local authorities and villagers in 1999 and, in 2001 , the villagers officially declared their village as desa wisata. In 2003, representatives of the village signed a Village Tourism Charter and formed un official committee to oversee tourism development. The principal target market is (school) groups from larger cities (cf. Janarto 2006). Tanjung offers almost 25 programmes to learn cultural activities such as dancing, making traditional textiles, knowing more about Javanese architecture, or learning how to cultivate rice. These programmes are not only recreational in nature but also give knowledge and the experience of new skills. Importantly, youngsters are very proud of their village heritage and the rate of urban flight has dropped tremendously. They are usually the ones guiding visitors around and narrating the stories of the village (often without much training to do so). Interestingly, the present village life is represented as time-frozen and pre-modern. A local NGO selected Candirejo in Magelang, nearby the heavily visited monument of Borobudur, as one of ten villages to develop socalled community-based tourism. The village was chosen for its original architecture and traditional daily life, beautiful rural scene and natural resources, all heritage deemed worthy to be preserved. Financially supported by the Japan International Cooperation Agency and UNDP, and expertise provided by UNESCO, Candirejo village was prepared to receive international tourists. This included the development of micro enterprises, such as the rental of bicycles and horse carts, and local accommodation structures. The whole process involved multiple workshops, panel discussions, and community group meetings. In 2003, Candirejo was

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officially inaugurated as desa wisata by I Gde Ardika, the then Minister of Tourism and Culture. Given its proximity to a World Heritage Site, Candirejo has attracted far more international tourists than domestic visitors. It is noteworthy that the Minister chose Sambi, another village selected by the same NGO, to announce the start of Indonesia Heritage Year in 2003 (Wahyuni 2003). Here, too, the representational emphasis is more on the past than on the present or the future. Although the intentions are different, the work of cultural preservationists and the interests of government and private entrepreneurs clearly overlap in the development of village tourism. ·

published widely about the success of CTP, the project was nominated for various international awards. In 2002, the International Year of Ecotourism, CTP was heralded as Tanzania's good practice example of sustainable development by the World Tourism Organisation (2002, 237240). The modules are also widely praised in guidebooks such as the Lonely Planet or the Rough Guide. Due to its perceived economic and institutional sustainability (and because it had been conceived as a fiveyear project from the very start), SNV withdrew from the project in 2001. Since then, there has been a declining cooperation between the different communities involved (van der Duim, Peters, and Wearing 2005). Each village seems to be only dealing with its own activities, and not everybody in the participating communities is happy with the presence of nosy tourists. In some places, the revenues are not distributed properly and there are escalating conflicts over land and natural resources. As of 2009, CTP has 26 participating communities and many villages are waiting to join. However, the various modules offer very similar packages and, like in Indonesia, accessibility is a major factor determining success; villages nearby Arusha (Tanzania's "safari capital") or on the access roads to protected areas are far more popular than more remote ones. Because CTP as a whole badly needed professional management, the TTB assigned a full-time CTP coordinator to develop guidelines and quality standards and to address the many marketing problems that have arisen. In order not to lose face, SNV became involved again, this time by providing two tourism consultants. The organisation recognised that, since most villagers themselves have not travelled extensively, it is not possible for them to put the beauty or novelty of their environments into a wider tourism context. Local tour guides are very important in CTP. They are often the only people in the villages with whom tourists spend more time than the average interaction with locals. Guiding therefore constitutes a strategic factor in the representation of a community, and in influencing the quality of the tourist experience, the length of stay, and the resulting economic benefits for the community (Salazar 2010a). Ideally, CTP tour guides are villagers with wide knowledge about the local natural and cultural heritage. Some communities, understanding the importance of guiding for the development of their tourism packages, invested heavily by sending promising villagers to tour guide schools in Arusha. However, these youngsters soon realised that they could earn more money by becoming safari driver-guides and often did not return to the communities that had sponsored their education. The ethnographic examples below illustrate the

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Cultural Tourism Programme "Cultural tourism is a people tourism that enables tourists to experience authentic cultures combining nature, scenery, folklore, ceremonies, dances, rituals, tales, art, handicrafts and hospitality-giving a unique insight into the way of life of the people while offering a complementary product to wildlife and beach based tourism." (Tanzania Tourist Board 2007, 2). The Cultural Tourism Programme (CTP) was launched in 1995 by the Dutch aid agency Stichting Nederlandse Vrijwilligers (SNV). A pilot project near the Kenyan border showed the possibilities for local people to benefit from tourism. In co-operation with projects already started by German (GTZ) and Finnish (Finnida) aid agencies, CTP was set up as a network of local communities, mainly Maasai in northern Tanzania, operating independently from each other and offering individually developed tour packages. These include campsites, home-stays, traditional food and beverages, trained guides, and local tours involving natural heritage (forests, waterfalls, and caves) and cultural attractions (historical sites and visits to healers, story tellers, artisans, and cooking mamas). The name CTP refers to the involvement of local people in organizing the tours and in guiding tourists through their attractions while showing them their aspects of their daily life, culture and history. SNV financed the various CTP modules, controlled their expenditures, and organised some minimal training for local tour guides. The Tanzania Tourist Board (TTB), on the other hand, was responsible for promoting CTP to both local and international travel agencies and tour operators (DeJong 1999). Helped by the fact that experiential "meet the people" tourism was becoming in vogue, CTP experienced a great boom in its first years of existence. Tourists contribute to a village development fund for construction of schools or other development projects. The modules are visited by both tour operators and independent low budget tourists. Because SNV

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importance of local guiding for the representation of the ethnic groups visited. The lack of cooperation and consultation between the various CTP modules has a baleful influence on the way different ethnic groups represent one another. More often than not, the Maasai, CTP's main "attraction" are the ones who suffer most from stereotyping and misrepresentation (cf. Salazar 2009).7 During CTP tours in Tengeru, for example, the local Meru guides clearly distinguish their ethnic group from the Maasai by denigrating the latter and depicting them as backwards. The Meru guides explain to foreign tourists that only the Maasai wear blankets; the Meru wear clothes. They are proud to say that the Meru are more developed compared to other "tribes" because they have adapted quicker to modernity, and that the Maasai are certainly more primitive. Such comments partly have their origins in the guides' frustration that foreigners think all Tanzanians are Maasai. In the CTP of Il'kidinga, a settlement of Arusha people, the village guides use the opposite strategy; they capitalise on the perceived similarities with the Maasai to attract more tourists.

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identify himself as such). His knowledge about Maasai culture is limited to the point that tourists sometimes become aware of it. I witnessed this on one of the tours I observed. One tourist was a general practitioner and very interested in knowing more about how the Maasai use local plants for medicinal purposes. The guide told her that the plants they (the Maasai) use have no real healing value but are just used because of tradition. When visiting a Maasai boma (homestead), he was unable to explain how the settlement is structurally organised. After a very brief introduction, he invited the group to "walk around and take pictures". The situation looked like a human zoo: Maasai and tourists staring at one another, without a cultural broker to facilitate communication and exchange between the two parties. The next day, the group went on a camel safari. At the start, the tour guide introduced all the camels by name. The accompanying Maasai men (one per camel), on the contrary, were never mentioned, let alone properly introduced. Because the tourists did not understand Swahili, they never noticed that their "local" guide was not a Maasai but a Meru. Of course, they also did not know there are growing tensions between Meru and Maasai people in the area because the land they share around Mt. Meru is becoming overcrowded and overstocked. The Maasai visited, on the other hand, had no clue about how they were being represented by the Meru guide because they do not understand English.

Conclusion "The so-called 'museum' or 'culture park' view of heritage as something that has only to be preserved and tended, only to be kept pristine, isolated from the alterations going on all around it, is not only utopian, it is mischievous. In trying to freeze a living tradition in the name of authenticity you produce the worst sorts of inauthenticity-decadence, not purity." (Geertz 1997, 19).

Fig. 3-4: Cultural Tourism Programme (CTP) In the Maasai CTP of Mkuru, one of the main tour guides is not a Maasai but a Meru from a neighbouring village (although he does not

Bruner notes that heritage-themed environments "are an excellent setting for anthropological inquiry as they are sites where the ethnic diversity of the nation or the region is represented for the visitors in a single locality in one panoptic sweep." (2005, 211). In this chapter, I have described how various periods have given rise to different tailor-made types of heritage environments for domestic and international visitors in Indonesia and Tanzania. Taman Mini and the Village Museum were built around the 1970s to develop a feeling of national unity and nationalism in young postcolonial states, though they were clearly inspired by earlier Western projects (as varied as Disneyland in the USA and Skansen in Sweden). To a certain extent, these hybrid open-air parks were an attempt

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to make sense of the multi-ethnic reality with which colonialism had left these countries after independence. Selected aspects of diversity were exhibited, without really attempting to (re)present all ethnicities. Paradoxically, these national heritage parks visually display difference yet promote unity. Typical house types (reconstructions) are a dominant feature, along with ethnic costumes, aspects of indigenous arts and culture, dance performances, and, in some cases, regional food. While the parks are recreational, they are also seriously political. They symbolise, in a modern way, centralised power (cf. Anderson 1991). Cultural heritage heterogeneity is put in its place-fixed, aligned, domesticated-and turned into recreational exhibition (Bruner 2005, 212). Aimed at a multiplicity of audiences, such parks have been mainly successful in attracting domestic crowds. Since both Indonesia and Tanzania gained their independence half a century ago, unity-in-diversity ideologies and practices are still in place but have become much less important - people have long understood the message. Nowadays, the logic of (neoliberal) globalisation is forcing both the public and private sector of these developing countries to look outward rather than inward. In this context, the tourismification of actually existing villages in Indonesia and Tanzania is both a consequence of the recent national decentralisation of power and a response to the increasing international demand for experiential tourism, often based on the temporal and spatial Othering of those living in rural areas (cf. Fabian 2002). In contrast with national heritage parks, where newly formed governments went through great efforts to show the modern side of their nation, in tourism villages quite the opposite is happening. The heritage theming of otherwise lived environments strategically makes use of three recurring imaginaries in tourism to developing countries: the myth of the unchanged, the myth of the unrestrained and the myth of the uncivilised (Echtner and Prasad 2003). A visit to the countryside is told and sold (often by the villagers themselves) as an exotic journey to the past, drawing on widely distributed imaginaries of Orientalism, colonialism and imperialism, to feed romantic and nostalgic tourist dreams (Salazar 2010a). Clearly, this type of tourism promotes local diversity rather than national unity. Whereas ethnography reduces living peoples to writing and museums usually reduce them to artifacts, both national heritage parks and tourism villages continue the late-nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century tradition of world fairs in that the objects on exhibit include real people. In both environments, peoples are presented as unique, separate and fixed, and, ironically, this is happening at the same time that the world (and

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anthropology) is moving towards mobile subjects, border crossings and vast population movements (Bruner 2005, 212). Tailor-made imagineering in heritage tourism for domestic and international audiences is well worth more in-depth ethnographic studying, because its practices not only create an image of places and peoples, the imaginative power of shrewd imagineers can potentially steal people's own imaginations in and through invented experiences. The central role of imaginaries as a force of tourism production and consumption of the past, the present and the future calls for an urgent return to empirical studies of widely circulating dreams and popular flights of fantasy, in the context of heritage tourism and beyond. As global tourism continues to expand, heritage sites and performances will be the source of historically unprecedented numbers of tourists. However, cultural heritage tourism is a double-edged sword. One the one hand, it can be a positive force to retain cultural values and to help mitigate threats. On the other hand, global tourism can become itself a menace to the sustainability of heritage. Those in charge of heritage management clearly need to pay closer attention to reconciling the needs of the various parties involved, each with their own interests (Porter and Salazar 2005). Instead of one universally accepted meaning, the significance of heritage-be it natural or cultural, tangible or intangibleis characterised by pluriversality. While the (re)shaping of cultural heritage used to be predominantly influenced by local and national actors, nowadays regional and global factors need to be taken into account as well. For cultural heritage tourism, the challenges of global (and, ever more, regional) standardisation and local differentiation will take on new dimensions (Salazar 2010b). While the management of heritage is usually the responsibility of a particular community or custodian group, the protection, conservation, interpretation and (re )presentation of the cultural diversity of any particular place or people are important challenges for us all ...

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Notes 1

The Dutch began to colonise the archipelago in the early seventeenth century and stayed until1949. 2 Contrast this with the highly conflictive programme of transmigration, equally aimed at creating imagined communities of a unified nation (Hoey 2003). Tanzania had a similar project of "villagisation" (Scott 1998). 3 This is part of Taman Impian Jaya Ancol (Ancol Dreamland), a popular resort destination located along the capital's waterfront, which opened in 1966 and is currently the largest integrated tourism area in Southeast Asia, boasting an international championship golf course, world-class hotels and other recreational facilities. 4 Indonesia is home to the world's largest population of Overseas Chinese (over seven million). 5 From 1884 until1918, Tanganyika was under German colonial rule as part of its East Africa Protectorate. Following Germany's defeat in the First World War, the country was handed over to the U.K. as a mandate territory by the League of Nations and, after 1946, a UN trust territory. Tanganyika became independent in

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1961. Three years later, Tanganyika and Zanzibar merged to form the United Republic of Tanzania. 6 This is a highly symbolic linkage, because Skansen was established in 1891 as the first open-air heritage park in the world, in an effort to save vernacular houses from different parts of Sweden that were quickly disappearing as the country became more urban and industrial. 7 The Maasai, speakers of the Eastern Nilotic Maa tonal language, are a widely dispersed group of semi-nomadic pastoralists and small-scale subsistence agriculturists who occupy arid and semi-arid rangelands in southern Kenya and northern Tanzania, collectively known as Maasailand. In Tanzania, they are said to have lived in the Serengeti plains and Ngorongoro highlands for some two centuries. The Meru people have traditionally been farmers, settled around the base of Mt. Meru in northern Tanzania The Arusha people are originally from the foothills of Mt. Meru. Influenced by Maasai ancestry, they still use the Maasai age system and other elements of Maasai social organisation. However, they have different clans and abandoned livestock herding in favour of settled cultivation.

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